


Don't Love Me Too Much

by demonjeans



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Crime Drama, M/M, Mystery, Private Investigator!Dean, Strange Towns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-29 23:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonjeans/pseuds/demonjeans
Summary: It’s an open and shut case, really. Wealthy family with a wandering son goes to some tiny town up north, gets caught up in a mess he can’t handle and ends up on the losing side of a knife. And a crowbar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Am I starting a new story? I think I'm starting a new story. Hope you guys like it! <3

Dean sighs pounding a light fist against the motel’s air conditioning unit. Maybe he shouldn't have skimped on lodging but he doesn’t plan on staying around too long. It’s an open and shut case, really. Wealthy family with a wandering son goes to some tiny town up north, gets caught up in a mess he can’t handle and ends up on the losing side of a knife. And a crowbar. Overall a brutal scene. The parents refuse to believe their son could ever have such an ending so heinous so they hired a private investigator to prove their son wasn’t the corpse lying there on the coroner's table. 

A parent’s denial can be the worst but admittedly turns a nice profit. Spend a week at some crappy motel, confirm the coroner’s report, and give the family his sympathies. 

Only, things don’t seem to be that straightforward. When Dean visits the morgue a day later the report isn’t as complete as he’d like and the corpse has barely got a face. 

“You just guessing at this?” Dean doesn’t mean to be that blunt but nothing about this is anywhere near standard procedures. 

“The town’s pretty small. Body found at the victim’s apartment matches his description, not much to it.”

Not much at all. 

Local police can vary but for the most part it’s a game of ego and no one’s appreciative of someone second guessing their work. This is no exception. The sheriff here eyes Dean like he’s shit on his shoe. This guy, sheriff Orton, gives him one long look of distaste and smashes in a cigarette into the already crammed ashtray.

“That boy was an outsider. Some people don’t like that.”

With some hemming and hawing Dean manages to get a copy of at best a summary profile of what happened along with a few sparse notes. 

Seth Rollins spent most of his nights at local bars hustling people out of money he didn’t need. Rented a small apartment over one of said bars and supposedly murdered during peak hours. The attacker kicked the door in, broke the hinges, found Seth presumably having a quiet night at home. They got into a tussle, the apartment left in disarray and Seth left with seventeen stab wounds and no face. 

No one heard a thing.

And not a single cop thought any of it felt amiss. 

So much for open and shut. 

He could lie, tell the parents he looked into it and sorry to say but their son is dead, and as much as Dean would like to he couldn’t. It didn’t feel right. 

That night he hits up the bar Seth rented the room from to get a better idea of things. A woman named Clara who tends bar appears to be in her mid-forties, has an aura of no nonsense yet her thin grimace breaks into something softer at the mention of Seth’s murder.

“That boy was an idiot, but he didn’t deserve to be killed for it.”

“Report says no one heard anything.” Dean glances around the bar, twenty or so people at ten o’clock. “Doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense.” 

“Wish I could tell ya different. He helps me get the bar ready for the night crowd, didn’t come down I went to his room to check on him. Found him… Like I said, didn’t deserve something so…” She sighs and shakes her head.

“Did you see him the night of?”

Clara nods multitasking her thoughts as an order comes in. “Helped me get ready then left for the night.”

“Cops said he stayed home.” He replies and that sour look returns on Clara’s face.

“Pardon my language but those men in uniform are just boys with their heads up their asses. Sure he coulda came back the outside way, that was the door that was broken, but it don’t exactly sit right. But they found him so what can I argue?” Clara finishes up the orders while Dean makes a mental note to keep her in mind for future findings.

“I hear he wasn't too good at making friends around here, anybody come to mind?”

“Pick anyone here. Kid rubbed everybody the wrong way. Smart though, made ‘em all think they had a chance.”

It’s not the answer Dean was hoping for so he takes another path. “Can I see the apartment?”

She shrugs. “Been cleaned out since. Have a box of his things if ya want ‘em.” 

Good enough. 

Back in his motel room Dean dumps the boxes contents on his bed. A week’s worth of clothes, a wallet, empty minus an ID and a few credit cards, a half empty pack of cigarettes, a deck of cards, and a notepad with missing pages and what is written seems to be just numbers and names. The names could be something or not a damn thing, but it’s a start. 

The knock at his door comes as somewhat a surprise. He’s only been here a few days but it’s a small town and cases like this can cause a stir. Someone who felt no interest in speaking to the police find it easier at times when they can be a no named tipster to someone who will forget them in a few weeks. They act as though they’re part of some crime drama. They get a thrill and Dean gets another piece of the puzzle. 

And this case looks to be one of those thousand piece monstrosities when he opens the door and sees his would be victim Seth Rollins standing at the door, coy little smile on his face. 

“Hi there, looking for me?”


	2. Chapter 2

There are times when luck falls into one’s lap. Times where a person should take their win and leave. Problem is Dean’s stubborn and he’d like things to make some amount of sense. Seth has a brilliant smile but there are rope burns around his wrists, his clothes are wrinkled and dirty, his long hair a nest of a mess. Honestly, he looks like he fell off the back of a truck. 

Dean moves to the side. “So what the hell happened to you?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Seth steps into the room, casual sway in his walk. “I died.”

“And got your face back.” 

Seth quirks an eyebrow. “My face?”

“Body they found in your apartment had his face smashed in.”

“Huh, well that’s just rude.” Seth eyes his things scattered on the bed and grabs the pack of cigarettes, placing one between his lips. “Got a light?”

Dean grabs the motel’s matchbook off the nightstand. With a quick swipe a matchstick comes to life, watches as Seth takes a long drag. “So you gonna tell me or what?”

“My parents hire you?” He asks as the smoke wraps around them. 

“They did.” He nods, both staring each other down. Seth looks at him with these doe eyes wide but tired, approaching bloodshot, not at all matching his posture or smile. Another puff of smoke later he gives Dean what he wants. 

“I was headed home when someone grabbed me.” Seth tells him. “Put a bag over my head and tied my wrists behind my back, then they tossed me into a car. Nobody said shit. Next thing I know I’m being walked down some dirt road. Felt someone behind me, knocked them back and took off running.”

“And that worked?”

“Sorta.” He smirks. “I fell down a hill, or a cliff, whatever. Blacked out. Got lost and spent a week wandering around the woods trying to get back here.”

“How’d you find me?”

Seth points an index finger at his temple. “Clara, the all seeing all knowing, told me about you.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “She a psychic now too?”

“Nah, she’s just nosy and talks to birds. She lives on the outskirts, was my best bet. Gave me something to eat and told me to come here.”

“Didn’t even offer a shower?”

“Well you have all my things.” He says with a tilt of his his head and in such a matter of fact tone Dean has an urge to roll his eyes. 

“Get cleaned up. I got a lot more questions when you’re done.” 

Seth gives him a mock salute and grabs an armful of clothes on his way to the bathroom. “There’s a liquor store down the road. If that mini fridge isn’t stocked it should be.”

Apparently all accounts on Seth’s personality seem to be true. And all it does is raise more questions. Why would some bratty rich kid come to some no name town and make a mess of things? Then again rich kids always seem to have that perfect excuse right on the tip of their tongues. 

_‘Because I was bored.’_

He swipes one of Seth’s cigarettes along with his wallet before heading out of the room. It’s probably going to be a long night so they might as well have something to help the mood. Even with Seth’s casual attitude attempted murder would shake anyone up. That, and the answers Dean’s looking for might come more easily with a bit of help.

Twenty minutes later the fridge now contains a case of beer and a bottle of whiskey. A new pack of cigarettes sit on top along with a lighter. A little goes a long way. Most times. Seth steps out of the bedroom looking a hundred times better, wet curls hanging loosely over his shoulders. One would think a nice hot shower is enough raise a person’s spirits after wandering in the woods for a week. 

Seth however, he’s not one of those people. “My parents hired you and you use dollar store shampoo and conditioner? You better be damn good or they’ve lost their minds.” 

Dean ignores the comment and grabs a beer, tosses Seth one. Waits to hear another snarky remark on choice but is only met with the snap of the tab. 

“You know, we could just leave. You’re alive, the job’s done.”

“You wouldn’t have bought these if you wanted to leave. You wanna play detective. Ever heard of the phrase let sleeping dogs lie?” 

Dean takes a sip hiding his emerging grin. “It’s interesting, is all. Why would someone go through the trouble of planting a body if they figured you were dead?”

“I ran off. No body means I’m not dead. My parents would want a body.”

“How would they know that?”

“I may have brought them up a time or two…” Seth grabs another cigarette from the near empty pack. 

“What’d you say?” He asks throwing over the lighter.

“That my parents could buy and sell anyone in this town.” Seth almost looks embarrassed. Almost.

Dean snorts. “Yea, that might tick a few people off.” 

“Not my fault some people get riled up easy.”

“Maybe not, but if that’s your aim, well then, here you are. Still, why plant a body if they could just get yours? You fall that far down?”

Seth pulls a face, squinting as he recalls. “Kinda, yea. Don’t really know how I survived it to be honest. I mean, your body doesn’t react the same when you’re drunk, you know?”

“You were drunk?”

“Does that matter?”

Dean sighs, swipes one of the last cigarettes from the old pack, content in receiving a minor glare from the other man. Holds out his hand for the lighter. “How do I know you’re not just making all that shit you said about getting jumped?”

“I’m a high functioning drunk.” Seth argues, flicking the lighter and making Dean have to lean in. 

So someone planned to kill Seth but he had ran and fell down some hill that was too much trouble to retrieve him. The woods around these parts are dense, no telling what lives in there, he’d be nothing but bones soon enough. So they find someone who appears enough like him, bash his face in and leave him to be found. Why? Because of his parents? Why do they matter?

“Why would anyone care if your parents showed up? You’d be missing, presumed dead. Give it a month or so and they’d call it quits, or find your bones.”

“My parents would show up here and make a mess of things. You met the people here, they want things quiet.”

“Why?” 

Before Seth can answer there’s a heavy knock on the door.

“Sheriff Orton here. Found something in the Rollins case you might find interesting.”

Dean’s eyes narrow at the door. The other day the sheriff wasn’t anywhere near welcoming about Dean looking into Seth’s Death. He was the exact opposite and now he’s at Dean’s door?

He looks over to Seth and whispers. “Hide.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey there.” Dean answers, beer in one hand and cigarette dangling from his mouth. 

Sheriff Orton gives him a once over, arms crossed. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Want one?” He waves the beer at him, shrugs as Orton shakes his head. “Anyway, got some news for me?”

“The murder weapon was found. Got a set of prints.”

“Really? Where’d it turn up?”

“Dumpster outside of Clara’s.”

Dean takes a drink and gives a tilt of his head. “You mean to say no one checked the dumpster right by the victim’s apartment?”

There’s some odd sense of pleasure in seeing Orton’s face turn from calmly smug to annoyed. “Wasn’t there before. Thought you’d find that interesting.”

“Doesn’t make sense.” And how many times are those words going to cross his mind while he’s here?

“It doesn’t, which is why I thought you’d want to come down to the station.”

“Right now?” He asks and Orton nods. “Well, seein’ as this is my third beer better off checkin’ in tomorrow if you don’t mind.”

Sheriff Orton’s face tells Dean he does but he makes no argument against it. The second he’s gone Seth emerges from the bathroom, walks over to the fridge and grabs the bottle of whiskey. 

“Was waitin’ on that.” Dean says but Seth ignores him. 

“Having recently come back from the dead is as good a time as any.”

“You never died.”

“Whatever.” He cracks the seal, takes a drink. “You know, I get you wanting to play detective but the case is solved. I’m alive. Done.”

“Orton’s part of this isn’t he?” It seems obvious. The guy oozes smarmy distrust. 

“I dunno.” Seth shrugs. “He’s an asshole who’s bad at cards. But that’s this whole town.”

“Is that what happened? Hustle the sheriff and end up dead?”

“He’s a sore loser, yea, but he he’s not- He’s probably covering for someone.”

“Who?”

Flip of a switch that easy demeanor turns a touch anxious. Seth grabs the new pack of cigarettes and tears it open. Wet curls fall forward as he lights up, glow of the flame illuminating his face. And for a moment all Dean wants to do is stare. 

But he wants to get to the bottom of this. “Who’s he covering for?”

“No idea.”

“You playin’ thick or are you actually this dumb?” He asks and gets thrown a glare in return.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“So you know?”

Seth rolls his eyes and blows a cloud of smoke right in Dean’s face. “No. I told you before I had a bag over my head. Why the fuck would I be part of this?”

“Hey you’re the one who bilks poor people outta their money, so…”

“Oh please.” Seth rolls his eyes. “The babies in this town aren’t innocent let alone anyone I met at night.”

Dean takes the bottle from Seth and sits back on the bed, wonders if he can convince Seth to sleep on the floor. With the look the bleach blonde brunette is giving him seems like he’s thinking the same thing.

“So tell me, why’d you come here?”

“Was driving and saw the sign, Palmer’s Grove, population seven hundred and fifty-two. And I’m pretty damn sure that number’s bloated as fuck. Sounded interesting, pop in and out. Planned to stay a week, almost two months now.”

“Why’d you stay?” 

Seth plops down on the bed beside Dean and takes the bottle, has a long drink and exhales. “I dunno. This town has that nostalgic feel for something I was never part of.”

“Pretty fuckin’ deep there.”

Seth grins. “You’re kind of an asshole, aren’t you?”

“And I get paid for it.” He laughs. “So fake nostalgia made you stay. Dunno if I really buy that.”

He gives Dean a long glance over then shrugs, plastering on that casual smirk. “I don't give a fuck what you think.”

“You gonna be helpful at all in this?” He throws Seth a glare. Feels like this whole thing is going in circles. 

“Ask better questions, then.”

“Fine. Who killed you?”

Seth sighs like Dean’s some annoyance but he answers best he can. “I don’t know. This town doesn’t like outsiders. Everyone knows each other, their little details. It’s interesting, hard to explain. This place just has this kinda…” 

“Draw?”

“Yea, if you believe in that sorta thing.”

Dean doesn't answer, it sounds ridiculous. Problem is, he kind of does. Understands it at the very least. Rich kid who has no attachments finally has a sense of what that’s like and craves it. Only, rich kid is still an asshole and quickly burns all those attachments right to the ground. Ends up in a ditch in the woods while his doppelganger has no face. 

God, there are still so many damn questions it makes Dean’s head hurt.

Seth takes a drink then passes the bottle to Dean, turns to lay on his side. “Hope you don’t mind sharing a bed. And even if you do… Whatever.” 

It’d be a little nicer if the air conditioning worked properly and the bed didn’t feel so overly warm with the two of them beside each other but Dean’s got a nice buzz going that he drifts off easily enough. Dean generally dreams in pieces, scattered notes that linger long enough that when he wakes there’s a feeling to follow. A direction that will get him somewhere further until the mystery presents itself. It’s why he can’t completely roll his eyes at Seth for whatever he feels for this place. 

But this dream doesn’t play out in pieces. He’s driving on some long stretch of highway shadowed in the forest he drove through to get to the tiny town of Palmer’s Grove. They’re leaving, they as in Dean at the wheel and Seth in the passenger seat. The radio plays static and the windows are rolled down letting the cool breeze rush through the car. It’s dark, the moon a sliver of nothingness and the trees so thick the stars can’t shine through. 

Dean doesn’t see it. A small flash of white and he’s swerving to get out of the way and the car goes and goes. He’s hanging upside down in a daze and looks over where Seth should be. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and all Dean can think of is Seth laying on the side of the road gagging on his own blood. 

Footsteps.

Then he wakes up. 

The dull buzz of the AC is the only sound in the room aside from his quick breathing. He sits up and sees Seth still peacefully snoozing, no broken bones only raw wrists. And something else… a small X cut behind Seth’s ear, still red and not quite healed. He reaches out to touch it then stops. The dream is still floating in his mind making his pulse race, his thoughts unclear. Seth had just come from being lost in the woods of course he’d have cuts and bruises.

Dean lays back and runs his hands over his face with a groan. Maybe this case is more hassle than it’s worth. Maybe tomorrow morning he’ll pack up their things and they’ll leave this town and its nonsense behind them.

Maybe.


End file.
